Things Change
by ToonGuy
Summary: When the Fat Controller retires, the steam team could be forgiven for thinking that this would be the biggest thing to happen to the Island. But with new friends and enemies on the horizon, Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends will have to go further than they've ever gone before: Both on the Island, and far beyond.
1. Chapter 1

_Unfortunately, I do not own any of the characters in this story, aside from my own creations, the rest all belong to their respective owners. Now that we've got that out of the way, enjoy!_

* * *

The primroses were in full bloom that summer morning. Errant mayflies and bumblebees flew around with the speed of a glacier, bobbing and weaving with not a care in the world. The river, slowly babbling it's way along the thin banks in no real hurry to reach the sea, was tranquil and disturbed only by the occasional fish blowing bubbles and upsetting it.

It was, all in all, a beautiful morning on the Island of Sodor.

Then, echoing across the peaceful scene, came the distant sound of a sharp whistle. All the animals looked up, and scarpered from the tracks. They'd done this before. They watched, mildly interested, as a flash of blue raced on by them. Then they returned to their work.

That flash of blue belonged to a tank engine, painted blue with red stripes, and moving at a faster pace than usual. His paint sparkled in the sunshine, shining brighter even than the river itself. He blew his whistle once more, so in the moment that he was quite unable to stop himself. He laughed to hear his two coaches, Annie and Clarabel, tutting at him disapprovingly. He was feeling very pleased with himself.

At last, he rounded the bend towards the little station of Elsbridge, and slowed down a bit, so that he would stop on time. Sure enough, he came to a gentle halt, right next to the platform. "Peep, peep!" He whistled. "We've arrived!"

Everyone got off, in a good mood. They'd made good time that day, and were eager to set off on wherever it was they needed to be. Some were heading back to the docks, to head for their homes and their families. Some were looking forward to being at home on the Island itself. And some...well, they merely wanted to enjoy the journey. So, as they milled about, settling on benches and buying food and magazines from the stand, they continued in good spirits. The fireman made sure they were stacked up on coal, the driver headed off to get tea, the guard checked his flag and whistle, and Thomas...

Well, Thomas the Tank Engine just closed his eyes and settled into a contemplative mood. A peaceful one at that. He drowned out the bustling noise of the passengers and the chatting coaches, and simply concentrated on being.

That was, until he heard a familiar whistle, and the clanging of a bell.

He looked up, and smiled as he saw his friends approach. Percy and Toby were also in cheerful moods, although perhaps the strain of their work had a bit more of an effect on Toby. His brow was creased with thought, in contrast to Percy's more relaxed expression. "Morning you two!"

"Morning Thomas!" The engines replied.

"You're early." noted Toby, glancing at the clock on the station. "You're usually either right on time, or.-"

"Or nothing, Toby!" Thomas said, heating up at the sound of an old argument. "I am always on time!"

"Except for that one incident, where you left the train behind." remarked Percy, innocently.

"All right, always was a bit of a stretch-"

"And that time after I scared you into thinking I was a ghost."

"You've made your point, Percy!"

"And-"

"Have you heard about Gordon?" asked Toby, sensing an argument and wishing to bypass all of that, just in case said argument lasted for the next few weeks, and made life on the branchline unbearable for all. "He's stuck on the hill."

"Again!?" said Thomas and Percy as one, the quarrel forgotten.

"And he wonders why we named it after him." mused Thomas.

"What's he blaming this time? The weather? The fitters? Edward?"

"This time, I believe his excuse is that the coaches are being a bit flighty this morning."

"Flighty?!" Percy laughed "Gordon's so flighty I'm surprised he hasn't sprung wings!" At the sound of two separate whistles, he glanced backwards and laughed. "Speak of the devil!"

Said devil was being pushed in by a rather tired looking Edward. "It's the coaches!" He grumbled to all and sundry. "So flighty and nervous! It wasn't like that back in my day, let me assure you!"

"Of course it wasn't, Gordon!" Edward reassured. He was aware that the big engine was rather...sensitive about his hill problem, and outside of some light teasing, had remained quiet for the most part. "But, er, breaking down at the station?"

"Bah! High spirits! It would happen to any engine!"

"Of course, of course, why didn't I think of that?"

"You don't get paid to be sarcastic, Edward!"

"I don't get paid period, Gordon." The smaller engine smiled warmly to the three engines. "Morning all! You're looking well! Say hello, Gordon, don't be rude!" Gordon grunted. "Ah well. Best you'll get out of him for now."

"So, what happened, Gordon?" Percy asked, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Gordon gritted his teeth and said nothing, just making noises of anger and annoyance.

Edward looked at the clock. "I hope the driver hurries up with his tea. I want to get Gordon to Crovan's Gate in time to hear the speech."

"Speech?" Thomas frowned. "What speech?"

"Oh, that's right, you had to head out early this morning! The Fat Controller told us at the sheds that there's some sort of big announcement that he has to make at Crovan's Gate at four. Very important, so all of the engines have to gather there. Or so he says."

"Huh." sniffed the sixth newcomer. "It's just a new engine, I should think." James had crept into the yard unannounced. Thomas's passengers were milling about and entering his coaches as he lounged in the sun, watching with amusement as his new paint gleamed and dazzled all who looked at him for too long. "What's wrong, Gordon? Another hill?"

"You shut up, James!"

"Make me!" James laughed as Gordon spluttered and growled impotently at him.

"Come on, you two, there's no need to fight." Edward looked at James. "So, where are you off to now?"

"Tidmouth Hault's my last stop, then I'll be heading back up to see what's going on."

...

All of the engines were gathered there. It was quite a sight to see. Thomas puffed up rather close to the podium which had been set up atop the station, and looked around. There was no sign of Sir Topham Hatt at all. He saw Duck and Oliver, hurrying down from the Little Western, pull in next to the Scottish twins, both of whom appeared to be in rather glum spirits. After leaving Annie and Clarabel besides Henrietta, Toad and the two Breakdown Cranes, he backed up to join the other engines. He found himself next to the trio of Rosie, Stanley and Ryan, who were all in animated discussion about what the announcement was.

"Hello, Thomas!" Rosie shouted, enthusiastically. "You look happy!"

"Uh, thank you, Rosie?" Did he not look happy whenever she saw him most of the other times? "You, er, look happy too!"

"I've just been told that I get to help out with Ryan and Daisy on their branchline! Isn't that great?" Rosie was so happy and so desperate for Thomas to say yes that he could hardly let her down.

"It's great, Rosie." He looked around, wondering where the railcar in question was. Ah, there! Right next to BoCo. They appeared to be looking after Bill and Ben. They were clearly already up to their tricks, as could be seen from both diesels's reactions. Speaking of diesels, he could already see Dennis, Norman and Sidney, right next to Iron Arry and Bert. He hadn't expected the Dieselworks gang to come out in full force, whatever it was must be serious indeed. Especially considering that Den and Dart were also there, right next to Devious Diesel and, of all engines, Diesel 10.

He looked for his friends, surprised he didn't see more of them. He spotted Percy and Toby backing down towards him, and then spotted Henry, Gordon and James gathered up with Molly, Hank, Neville, Murdoch, Caitlin, Conner and a very impatient Spencer. He glanced to his right, surprised to see Emily there, talking with Stafford the electric engine.

"So, do you know what this is about?"

"Nay, I havnae a clue!"

"Oh. That's interesting then."

Percy drew level with him. "My my, Thomas, you are on a roll today, aren't you? Early to the station, and early to the meeting! Someone's trying to impress Hatt today! There'll be a promotion for you, mark my words!"

"Oh shut up!" scowled Thomas.

In the corner, many of the Narrow Gauge engines watched from their sheds. Duncan and Sir Handel were arguing with each other about trying to get the best view, Peter Sam, Luke and Rusty were casually talking about something or nothing, while at the front, Skarloey, Rheneas and Duke craned their heads to see if they could spot anyone they recognized. Millie was also atop a small flatbed truck being pulled by Paxton, and her fellow Ulfstead mainstays Glynn and Stephen were also parked right next to her.

"Salty and Porter, Timothy and Marion, Whiff and Scruff, Harvey and Mavis...they're all here!"

"It's pretty important, whatever it is." whispered Toby. "Flora's here. She never comes off the tramway unless she needs to. Belle and Flynn are here too! I didn't think the Rescue Center Manager would let them off like this!"

"Judging by the crowd-" Edward remarked as he backed up "-we may need an emergency team. Look at how tightly they're all packed in!"

At last, with a rather painful series of bangs and things that sounded like the crunching of a gear stick, the Fat Controller drove Winston towards the station. "EARLY-" He panted "-DAYS!"

"Yes sir, early days." With a loud crunch, Winston came to a stop, nearly throwing Hatt out. Struggling to maintain his composure, the Fat Controller stood up, wiped himself down and approached the podium with solemnity and calm.

"Hello there, ladies, gentlemen and engines of all shapes and sizes!"

"HOORAH!"

"You shush, James." A polite laugh rippled through the crowd. "Now, I would like to preface this speech by thanking all of you for turning up so promptly, and in the case of the crowd, uninvited. I appreciate that you've humored me. And I, I want to start with that because I wish to just tell you all how proud and honored I am to be the director of this railway. To be the proud manager of the greatest railway in the world. To be the owner of the finest fleet of steam and diesel locomotives that ever was, is or will be. And yes, even to be called the Fat Controller." Another polite laugh. "My father said to me when I took over for him that I would have a lot of problems running the railway, and that they would be vastly outnumbered by all the positive experiences. And he was right. I have loved every moment being the Fat Controller."

He paused for effect.

"And why I am somewhat sad to be announcing that I am officially retiring."

In the silence that followed, one could have heard the world's smallest pin hit the ground with a deafening bang.

"I understand that for many, this will seem sudden. Out of the blue. But from the new year, i have been questioning myself repeatedly on what happens next, after I inevitably step down. And I would rather go out on my own terms, with my head held high, than be carried out on my shield. Or in this case, my top hat." No polite laugh this time, his audience was still stunned beyond words. "I have also my family to consider. One of the things that cursed my father to an early retirement was that his father couldn't let go of the railway when he had the chance. I do not want my son, Richard, to think me someone who cannot let go of power. And finally there is the fact that I want the best for this railway. And let us be frank, my driving skills have not improved that much."

Thomas felt as though his body and mind were two seperate things. He looked around, desperate for any sign of a joke. Percy was staring open mouthed in shock, Toby had an expression of surprise etched on his face. Edward's face was blank, as if the news hadn't quite registered yet.

"I have loved...every moment being the Fat Controller. And I will not be gone in any meaningful sense. You shall still see me every day for the next fortnight ,as I hope to guide my successor, be it my son or anyone else deserving of the title, through the ins and outs of those first painful weeks. And I shall still be seeing all of you as I catch the train from Knapford at 9:00 in the morning. I'll still be here. It's just time to move on." He coughed. "Thank you."

As he left, the crowd seemed to stir into life, and applauded furiously. A few of the younger engines (Charlie, Phillip, Ryan) whistled and honked their horns loudly, joining the chorus. But the majority were still stunned beyond belief. A few engines were even sobbing.

One by one, they all headed for home.

...

"Well-" said Marion that night, at the China Clay Pits "-that was certainly something, wasn't it?"

"How are the twins taking it?" asked Mavis, curiously. She and Toby were spending the nights with Timothy and Marion as neither of them were really in a mood to be sleeping on their own. And besides, they had stuff to collect tomorrow from the Clay Pits anyway, so there was no point in leaving.

"They seem to be doing all right. But then again, they're Bill and Ben. They're surprisingly good actors!" Timothy said. "I mean, the amount of times they've tricked us-"

"Tricked you, you mean." Toby said, jokingly. Timothy turned red and looked away.

Marion raised her shovel high. "To Sir Topham Hatt!" She declared, enunciating every word with pride. "The best Controller we've ever had!"

"Keep it down, Marion." whispered Mavis, yawning. "I want to get some kip tonight."

...

The sheds at Wellsworth were full as well. Many of the tender engines who tended to not have any real sheds to sleep the night away were gathered there, each with their own thoughts.

Neville wondered whether or not the new Controller would prefer steam engines or diesel engines. He often felt that he was trapped between the two sometimes. Running on steam, but looking like a diesel. Either way, he hoped that he was still in with a chance of getting some work done.

Hank thought about the various other engines, the ones imported from other countries to help out with the work. He was an American by nature, and he knew that many others of his background were employed on the railway. He wondered if that would stop, or worse still, if he was to be sent back as a cost cutting measure. He had heard of things like that happening.

Hiro tried to recall what age he was. It felt like such a long time ago now that someone had once called him Master of the Railway. But he knew he was old, that much was certain. And he couldn't help but wonder if, perhaps Hatt had been one of the last great romantics, and whether the new Controller would see the older engines as novelties at best and downright threats at worse.

Murdoch realized how happy he was to finally get some peace and quiet for once in his life.

"Be quiet! Please!" Spencer winced as Caitlin and Conner began talking faster and louder now, just on spite alone.

And there it goes, thought Murdoch, glumly.

...

"Did you know?"

"No. Of course not, Thomas."

Edward was pale. Gordon had remained remarkably silent. James's remarks had lost a bit of their bluster. Percy seemed to be on the verge of crying. Henry had a train to pull, but that was just as much an excuse to think things through as a job. Even Emily and BoCo, who had taken the place of Henry for tonight, were talking in lower tones.

"Do you think everything'll be okay?" Percy asked, nervously.

"Course it will!" snapped James, sounding a bit more harried than usual. "When hasn't it been?"

"Still...he's really gone."

"Didn't you hear, little Thomas? We're going to see him every day!" Gordon didn't sound nearly as certain as he said that as he should have been. "I don't even know why we're so sad for!"

"Things'll never be the same." Percy lamented.

"Come on, it'll be fine." Emily said, trying to be comforting. "It'll just take some getting used to, that's all."

They lapsed into silence, each one preoccupied with their own thoughts.

...

The night came. The dock's lights flickered and swayed, as flecks of seawater met them with a soft hissing sound. Workmen, wearing large overcoats and huddling under umbrellas whenever they had a spare minute, hurried around making the last few adjustments. Couplings were connected, the doors slammed, one last sweep of the area revealed there to be no more boxes left out, and at last, they were ready. The Flying Kipper was ready to start off.

The fireman looked back, and saw the guard's green lantern glowing. "Right away, mate!"

Henry started with a jerk and a gasp of shock, he'd not been concentrating. The vans chattered and giggled behind him, but a rather harsh bump settled them down. The green engine began to gather speed as he left the docks, and moved out into the countryside. Usually, he would marvel at all the beautiful scenery around him, and how still everything appeared in the cold crisp light of night. But not tonight.

No, tonight, his thoughts were very much preoccupied with the events of the day. He had been here a long time. Or at least, he felt like he had been. At this point, years felt more like decades. But he had been here since the time when Gordon had been the biggest engine of the lot, which wasn't worth much now considering just how bigger these new engines were. There had always been a Fat Controller. Or perhaps it was merely that they were all so similar, that they just replaced them without notifying anyone. It felt as though at times the idea of the Fat Controller was immortal.

He knew that one day, people would just...stop coming to see them. It was fine. Sometimes they even insisted that their last journey be made on one of their own trains. Porters, guards, workmen, fitters...even his driver and fireman had changed quite a few times. But the Fat Controller had always been there, and now-

He shook himself. What was wrong with him? Topham Hatt wasn't going to die, for goodness sake! He was just taking an early and well earned retirement. And the last thing he'd want was for Henry to be sloppy on his Kipper run. He came to a stop at Edward's station, and waited, patiently for his back engine.

At last, she arrived, full of apologies. "Uh, sorry, uh, Henry! I didn't, um, see the time, and the empties-"

"I understand!" Henry said, more to forestall the continued rambling apologies than out of any real magnanimity. "Just, if you could, the top of the hill, please."

"Oh, r-r-right." And buffering up, Molly waited until the guard had made quite sure that the lamp was firmly attached to the back of the van before starting off.

Soon, Gordon's Hill loomed over them. Molly's driver added more coal to the fire, and she began to push harder and harder. Henry puffed and panted and growled up the hill as best he could, but it was hard work, and without Molly's help, he doubted he'd get up the hill. Not that he'd admit that, of course.

Then, all of a sudden, through the relatively quiet night air, he heard a piercing whistle. This in and of itself wasn't strange, but the fact that he couldn't immediately place it was. They were about halfway up the hill, and the train was growing heavier and heavier. The last thing they needed was some new engine trying to show them up.

"Faster!"

"I'm trying!" Molly shouted back. "But there's-"

She didn't get a chance to finish, before something hit her tender, hard. With a cry of shock, she shot forward, breaking through the back of the brake van. The unexpected shove had sent Henry up the hill and over the brow of it, but Henry was more concerned with what was behind than what was in front. The vans had been jolted so severely that some of them were coming off the tracks.

Henry braked, hard. But going down Gordon's Hill meant that this didn't do anything. He rattled down, the last remaining vans groaning and wailing as they bounced along the track. He shut his eyes and put every ounce of steam against the trucks, praying to any deity out there that he didn't come screeching off the rails at the bend.

Whoever out there was listening, as at last, he came to a slow, undignified stop.

The fireman scrambled out of his cab and hurried to the top of the hill, while the driver pulled Henry into a siding, uncoupled the shaken and worse for wear vans and then drove Henry onto the loop line to turn him around

Molly had inadvertently saved the guard's life, he had jumped clear as soon as she had let out her cry. He had watched in horror as Molly plowed through his van, and the last four or five trucks. Her tender was off to the side, near a copse of trees, where several of the remaining vans had shattered or been run off by the sudden boost in momentum. Molly herself was on her side, trying hard not to cry as her wheels spun up bits of gravel and pebbles.

Henry was white. There was no way this was an accident. His fireman, after checking on the guard and Molly's own crew, had rushed off to the nearest phone to get help. Henry hurried down. "Molly! Listen, don't worry, help's on it's way, don't go anywhere!"

Molly shot him a look that screamed 'Are you kidding me right now?' and Henry wondered if perhaps he should have phrased that differently.

"What hit you?"

"I d-d-don't k-k-know! It-It was a...an engine, I t-t-t-think!" Molly appeared to be on the verge of going into hysterics, and Henry wasn't quite sure how to handle this. He was not, it must be said, the most sensitive of engines. So he sat and waited for Oliver to arrive with Judy and Jerome, the breakdown train.

"An engine?" he muttered to himself. "How unusual!"

...

The next morning dawned bright and cheerful. Gordon waited at the station for a good five minutes. He looked around nervously, but the passengers had yet to start grumbling that much. Which was unusual, given that the coaches weren't ready yet.

"Where has that silly little tank engine gotten to?!" He muttered angrily, and backed down into the yard. He was about to give all of the shunting engines a good piece of his mind when he saw the state of it. "Great fires of London! What happened here?!"

"No one's sure, Gordon." Edward looked grim. "Whoever it was managed to do a right number on the trucks. Most of them are fine, but there are few that in pretty scruffy condition." The yard was filled to the brim with the scattered remains of the truck's cargo: coal, wood, china clay, quarry rock, anything and everything that the Island supplied. Not only that, but many of the trucks had been thrown up in the air or shattered. "Sorry Gordon, we'll get your coaches in a minute, we just...need to clean the situation up."

"Of course. I'll make something up to keep the passengers happy."

"That's reasonable of you."

"Don't sound so surprised. This isn't a human's doing, is it?"

"If it were just the loads that the trucks were carrying, I'd be inclined to say that it could be. But look at the way they've scattered all of this about. No, this is an engine's work. And a powerful one at that." He looked up, sharply. "Did you hear what happened last night?"

"No." Edward told him about Henry and Molly's little adventure. Gordon was open mouthed in shock. "My word. What's happened?"

"Well, Oliver took them to the Steamworks. Victor's sent Henry back out, mostly it was just nerves and a few battered areas, but Molly's in pretty rough shape. Bruising to the front, injuries to the side, dents, and so forth. She's out of action, for quite a while."

"The last thing we need when it comes to having to deal with a new controller."

"I'm sure Molly didn't mean to get attacked and rammed off the rails last night."

"Don't be funny with me!"

...

Gordon returned five minutes later, still fuming. He hated being made to wait, even though the clock said that he still had another ten minutes to go before complaints with any actual substance could be made. He glanced once more at the passengers, who were still all gathered around the office of the Fat Controller.

Inside, the man himself was sitting at his desk, nostalgically looking over the old map of the Island. It was one that took far more liberties with the actual geography (Hatt was pretty sure that mermaids did not live off of Bluff's Cove) but it was a nice reminder. There was a knock at the door, and Hatt looked up. "Come in!" The door opened, and there stood-

"Giles, glad you could make it!"

"I apologize for being late, but the traffic out there is a nightmare. Lovely to see you, Topham!" Giles shook the Fat Controller's hand vigorously, before taking a seat on the other side of a rather nice plush looking desk. He idly ran his hand over it, and wondered how much it cost to get made.

"No problem, no problem whatsoever. Well, I'll get straight down to it, and afterwards, perhaps we can head off to get a drink or something, talk each other's ears off!" Hatt laughed, and Giles flashed a brief smile.

"Ahem. So, my retirement. I wasn't surprised to see your name come up on the list of potential successors. You've been a good friend to me, and you have the right attitude when it comes to business. Last night, myself and Lady Hatt stayed up and began trimming the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. We were left with four names overall. Firstly, my son, Richard. Normally he would be my first choice, as the railway always passed down from one son to another, but I don't want to appear biased. Then there was Peregine Percival, but he's already got his hands full with the Skarloey Railway, and he's a bit of...well, he was in finances before this, so he's not the kind who interacts with people well. Thirdly, we had the Earl of Sodor's brother, but he's suddenly come down with a bad case of something or other. Which just leaves you."

Giles smiled. "So, what happens now?"

"I've been thinking a lot about this. It's rather hard to make a decision such as this, when so many depend upon the result being correct, without seeing some evidence for how the railway will be run." Hatt leaned over, confidentially. "So, both you and Richard will have a trial period of one week to run the railway however you see fit. You'll organize the trains, balance the books, and so on and so forth. Best person at the end of this fortnight will be made the new Controller of the North Western Railway. Does that sound fair?"

Outside, the passengers were finally getting impatient. Edward hurried in with the coaches, and watched as Gordon backed down on them somewhat rougher than usual. Both engines watched as the source of the interest exited the office.

He was a tall, dapper looking man in a plush red suit, with ruffles and a bowtie. He was a very striking figure to look at, with black curly hair, teeth that shone like torches and eyes that seemed to be laser focused on whatever he was looking at. "Good morning!" He said, in a genial voice. "Ladies, gentlemen, I would advise you to get aboard the express! After all, we do not wish for you to be late!"

The crowd dispersed onto the train. Edward raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's certainly smooth."

"My name-" the man announced "-is Giles Middleton, and I shall be assisting Sir Topham Hatt in the running of this beautiful railway for the next week or so! I wish you all a good day." He turned and walked back towards the office.

The guard, briefly stunned, shook himself and blew the whistle. As he clambered aboard, Gordon started off, relieved.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Number 2?"

"Oh, er, yes. Of course. My mistake." And as Edward backed away,, he wondered why Giles had been so...formal with him.

...

As Thomas puffed along to Dryaw, he kept a look out for Bertie the Bus. Usually the two of them met up before heading off to work for the day, to talk about something or other. But this time, there was no sign of him.

"Where is he/" he wondered aloud. "It's not like him to be late. Usually it's me who's late, and he's usually there to jeer at me!"

"I never thought I'd hear the day when you complained about not being teased!" Annie said, laughing.

"Indeed!" agreed Clarabel, and then in a kinder voice, continued "He's probably just fine, Thomas."

Thomas tried to smile. They reached Dryaw in good time, and as the passengers got out, he happened to glance over to see Harold the Helicopter. "Morning, Harold!"

"Good to see you, old chap! Just stopping to refuel before I head back to the Search and Rescue Center! Why the glum face? It's not the Fat Controller, is it?"

"It is partly that, but also, I was wondering. Have you heard anything about Bertie? He wasn't at the station this morning, and no one seems to know where he's gotten to-" Thomas suddenly spotted Harold's change in expression "What's wrong?"

"Ah, you, er, haven't heard then? Oh, oh I do not want to be the one to have to bear this bad news, but...there was an accident last night. Bertie was crossing through Lower Suddery, when this great engine rushed past and slammed into him!" Harold shuddered. "It was a fair bit of luck that his driver got out with only a few scrapes. Luckily he wasn't carrying any passengers, or there'd be far worse to think about. But yes, Bertie's laid up at the bus station awaiting repairs."

"Poor Bertie!" Thomas gasped. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'll pass on your sympathies to him if I'm in the area!"

Thomas whistled a thank you and started back on his way. As the coaches made vague sounds of sympathy and nattered on about what kind of monster would deliberately ram a bus, Thomas was lost in his own thoughts.

Everything's changing, he thought, and not for the better.

...

Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, three strangers sat down at points and talked to each other. They were all steam engines. To an average eye, they would appear to be very similar to the most famous talking engine in all the world.

The first, Cliff, spoke in a cold, stoic tone. "Last night did not go well. In any sense of the word."

"Oh I dunno about that." said his brother, Peter. "I thought the APT went quite well, all things considered. Yards trashed, confusion and delay caused...if it wasn't for that foolish girl-"

"You promised that no one would get hurt!" shouted the final of the trio. Anne looked pale, worried. It had not been an easy night. "You promised that the worst we'd do was make a little mess!"

"Hey, it's okay, no one caught us!"

"That's not the problem, Pete!"

"Both of you, just...stop. All right, now she'll be moving over to the Island soon. We better make sure that this time, the APT gets what it's going for, instead of just drawing attention to us unduly!" Cliff turned to Anne. "You'll have to lure him out, of course. And Peter, don't try anything foolish with APT. Tonight, we just want the one."

"Yes, yes, obviously."

"...It's time to bring our brother home."

...

 _"Good evening, and welcome to Trainspotters, the show that brings you the latest up to date news on steam, diesel and electric engines from around the world! I'm Stan!"_

 _"And I'm Nigel! Today, a quick update from us as to the situation on the Mainland. According to sources close to the Prime Minister, Harold Wilson is planning to introduce measures to prevent the unnecessary cruelty shown towards steam engines as a result of the proposed Beeching Cuts. Mr Wilson has promised us that no steam engines currently showing signs of life will be destroyed, but instead relocated."_

 _"Interesting news, Nigel! But that rather leads me into a story of the opposite nature! While British Rail has been, for the most part, compliant with the wish to make sure that all living engines are kept safe, the infamously loud splinter faction known simply as 'Tomorrow's Children' have stepped up their campaign for a complete elimination of all steam. We have been unable to reach the leader for comment, but it is known that the opposition by both Mr Wilson and the Opposition's Mr Heath has had a rather bad effect on public opinion of Tomorrow's Children."_

 _"In related news, temporary controller of the railway Giles Middleton has denied rumors that security on the Island of Sodor is lax. This comes after several engines have been placed into the steamworks following strange attacks, and with several of the yards having been left in a state of disarray. Again, we were unable to reach Mr Middleton for comment, but more on that story at a further time..."_

...

"Hello friend! You look a little cold, would you like to come in for a bit?"

"Thank you, that is most kind of you."

BoCo looked the newcomer over with a slightly critical eye, masked by a genial expression on his face. "You're new here, I think. Haven't seen you on the yard before. Where are you from?"

"Oh, here and there. Most recently, I was stationed at St Pancreas."

"I'd be careful throwing those words around, friend. Some argue it's still King's Cross, and others say it's Eustace, and still others Paddington. We have quite the debates, let me tell you."

The stranger laughed, a genuine one, but one that sounded a little bit...loose. It wasn't so much madness that BoCo could detect, rather it was as if this diesel was one step slightly behind reality. "Yes, it's the same all over the place! But, my apologies, I have yet to introduce myself. I am Penny."

"BoCo, a pleasure once again. Are you a-"

"A Class 31? Yes. I was here because I was told that Thomas the Tank Engine lives here?"

"He does. I can take him to you tomorrow, if you wish."

"That would be wonderful, thank you. But I would like to rest now." They chattered idly for a bit before BoCo fell into a pleasant sleep. Penny sighed, and tried herself to drop off.

But no such luck.

Tomorrow was going to be...interesting, to say the least.

* * *

Author's Notes: Welcome to something not Abridged related!

Something I have been thinking of since I started doing the Abridged series is what I'd do if I tried my hand at writing a straight, not-mocking piece of Thomas fiction. And as I am currently on the Magic Railroad, I have also been thinking a lot about where the movie went wrong, and what I'd do if I could create a movie of my own. And from that, this was born.

Here I'll essentially be answering any questions from reviews that I have, clarifying some things and just giving some general thoughts about why I made certain choices. So, yeah, have at me!


	2. Chapter 2

I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews, they were helpful and encouraging! Thanks for pointing out the difference between the Modernization and Beeching Cuts respectively, too! In case it doesn't come across as such in-story, the engines simply mix the two together a bit, and see the latter as an extension of the former.

Of note is the fact that this is my first attempt at using the proper geography of Sodor. I am using the map as done by Amos Wolf, so I apologize if you feel as though I am getting it mixed up or such. As the story is a mix of Railway Series and TV series, I am trying to fill in the gaps as best as I can, so please stick with me, even through my blunders in the field!

* * *

That night, things were somewhat quieter.

That is not to say, however, that the night was without incident.

At about one in the morning, BoCo's eyes snapped open. He looked around, confused as to what had caused him to rise from his slumber. Certainly there were no bad dreams as such. So logically, it must have been an outside influence.

Then he spotted it.

Penny was gone.

"Hello?" His voice echoed in the quiet night. He couldn't yet move, as his driver wasn't due for another four hours or so. He looked left and right, but there was no sign that the other diesel had even been here.

So, reluctantly, he settled down and tried to go back to sleep for the rest of the night.

...

Dawn broke slowly, with the ruby-red haze of the sun casting shadows along the ground and instilling all around it with a feeling of warmth.

Well, nearly all around it. As Thomas awoke to the sound of birds twittering and the sounds of shunting, he shivered and wished that the firelighter would hurry up. It was early, and the other engines were still fast asleep, but Thomas couldn't settle back down and wait. Not now that he was awake. He looked around, spotting Stanley and Charlie getting the trucks in order.

On a normal day, Thomas would have whistled to them. But as it was, he couldn't help feeling a little distracted. He was an early riser in the summer, he always felt as though he was wasting valuable time proving to the bigger engines that he was number one for a reason sitting in the sheds. And he couldn't help but recall the early morning conversations he had had with Sir Topham Hatt.

One in particular echoed around in his head.

 _"Remember, don't be impatient, Thomas. You can never be as strong or fast as Gordon, but you can be a really useful engine. Don't let the silly trucks tease you! There's a good engine."_

As simple as it was, those words had stuck in Thomas's head. And he suddenly wished that the Fat Controller was here, even if it was just to give him some orders. He sighed, and looked at the other engines.

Were they as worried as he was?

...

Molly yawned, and stretched her wheels.

And then panicked, because stretching one's wheels when hanging in the middle of the air is...disconcerting, to say the last. Victor let out a shout of surprise, and then sheepishly lowered her closer to the rails. "I am so sorry, my friend! I...understand how it can feel, to not be on the rails."

"Oh...s-s-sorry Victor. Just...woke up and p-p-panicked."

"Quite all right."

"...How long do you think I'll be in here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, for a week...at least."

"Oh." Molly looked downcast. She bit her lip, and looked around. It could be quite boring in the steamworks, on her own. Victor sensed her loneliness, and tutted sympathetically.

She had no idea that boring would be the last thing this day was going to be.

...

Middleton smiled to himself as he sat in the Fat Controller's chair, and gazed out of the window. It really was a lovely view. He took a moment to revel in the quiet and peace of the station, not yet filled to the brim with noise and smoke and bustle and all the other things that made one wish for the quiet and solemnity of the church. He cracked his fingers together.

Time to get to work.

He examined the timetable thoroughly. Number Five would be here shortly with the first passenger train of the day. Not the express, of course, that seemed primarily to be the train assigned to Number 4, and Number 3 should the former grow ill. Then, following on from that, Numbers 6, 8 and 11 would be departing the yards with a long train of trucks to varying destinations.

Middleton sank back, and pondered for a moment. There had to be a way to make things more economical around here. Aside from the obvious way, of course. But he didn't quite want to start off his trial week with that.

"HERE'S JAMES!" The loud whistle, and voice, indicated that Number 5 was here.

So much for quiet.

...

"I can't believe them! They come out all this way, waste who knows how much money to do so, and for what? A protest that's never going to be acknowledged at all!" Gordon scoffed loudly. "Luddites! The lot of them! Where's the logic in that, I ask you?"

"Who said humans were logical?" muttered Henry, darkly. But he agreed with Gordon nonetheless. It did seem especially pointless, considering that there was no real grounds for support for these Tomorrow's Children lot on the Island. They looked a right silly bunch too, contrasting with the more traditional looking inhabitants of the Island fiercely. Clad in all black, with what appeared to be leather jackets and packards with slogans like 'YOU'VE HAD YOUR TIME' and 'NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE' on them, they were about as subtle as James.

Edward tried to ignore the feeling of dread as he passed through his station, where many of the protesters were camping down and shouting loudly at anyone and anything that would listen. He prayed that no one would start chucking anything, he really did not like the idea of a riot breaking out right now. He felt better as he exited the area, and headed off into the calm and beautiful countryside-

"STOP!"

Edward braked, hard, as the man with the red flag jumped up and down furiously. He skidded to a stop, and apologized profusely to both passengers and coaches for the bump. "What's going on?" He asked.

"You'll have to be careful coming through here! And from now on, I'd try finding another way through here."

"But we always come through Suddery!" argued Charlie Sand. Sidney Hever nodded furiously.

"That's as maybe. But I have my orders."

Edward looked around him and started in shock. The rails had been buckled and dented along several points, and the sleepers had been ripped up. He had been here only yesterday and the junction had been it's usual self! He started along the line towards the station of Suddery, unable to keep his mind from returning to the protesters. Could it be possible that they had something to do with this?

...

"Hooligans!" hissed James.

The track ahead was blocked by a large number of protesters, waving their placards and chanting some slogan or other that James couldn't hear properly. This track lead to Kirk Ronan. The passengers were getting more than a little worried. Delay usually came about because of engine trouble, or cows straying onto the line, or Acts of God that were out of their control.

This was something new.

"Perhaps-" muttered the driver "-if we wheesh steam at them, they might back off a little bit."

"...I don't have any better plans. So let's see..." After a moment's hesitation, the fireman stoked the fire a little bit more aggressively. James crept closer and closer, not quite daring to close his eyes just yet.

But this was a mistake. Moving forward had given the protesters a sudden surge of confidence, and rushing ahead, they pelted James with a variety of different things. The 'timid' threw fruit and vegetables, or something equally as squashy, while the more bold threw bricks and stones. James hissed in rage and fear, as the objects veered dangerously close to his face.

The sudden sound of his paintwork being scratched by a stray brick caused him to snap, and with a mighty roar that was almost completely unlike him, James whislted long and loud, steam whooshing out everywhere.

Even the most confident of the rabble realized that at the moment, they were like armorless knights facing down a very angry and very red dragon. They rushed up onto the banks surrounding the track, still jeering and throwing things, but with noticeable restraint. James took his chance, and ignoring the screechs of his coaches, he hurried along the track, desperate to get back to familiar ground.

...

At Kirk Ronan, the Scottish twins watched in disbelief as James limped in, his face fixed onto a permanent scowl. The coaches were in even worse shape. The windows were smashed in, the paintwork was scratched, and there was the sound of pained whimpers and sobs coming from directly in. The signalman at the junction phoned for an ambulance, which soon arrived to treat the injured passengers.

"James!" called Douglas, concerned for the red engine who had barely said a word up until this point. "What happened?"

"What happened, Douglas, is that those lunatics decided to attack me! And because of their stupid inability to think, my passengers have been badly hurt!" James was legitimately angry for once. They could tell it was serious, not once had he mentioned his paintwork. "The hooligans had me cornered! I couldn't speed up for fear of running them over, and if I went too slowly, I got pelted!" He swore under his breath...and then stopped as a rather thinner figure appeared in front of him.

"Number Five." said Mr Middleton, his mouth pursed in disapproval. "I am surprised at you."

"ME?!" James paused, and then realized his mistake. "Sir?"

"According to the passengers, you slowed down when you saw these...hooligans, as you put it, and tried to 'wheesh' steam at them?" Middleton shook his head in reprimand. "That may have carried weight when Sir Topham was and will be in charge, but while I have power over this railway, you shall obey the direct regulations and, in future, return to the previous station as you should do!"

"But...but it was our idea!" protested the driver. The fireman nodded, but Middleton ignored him.

"Thanks to you, our passengers have been injured, and valuable North Western Railway property has been damaged! I believe a traditional punishment is in order...go to your shed, and stay there."

"But...but sir-"

"Now."

James was shocked into silence. The twins had watched all this with jaws hanging, unable to rally up much of an argument against such cold indifference! As the red engine departed with an expression like thunder on his face, they headed off to tell the others.

...

But as it turned out, the others had known already. Many reports had come in from across the Island. On the Narrow Gauge railway, Peter Sam and Sir Handel had had to deal with a few very angry young men, who were waving about crowbars and sledgehammers with great enthusiasm. It was only by luck that no one had gotten hurt.

Less lucky was the Arlesburgh line. Captain Joe had been attacked and wounded by a few of the more rowdier members of the group. Some of the older people had been seen calling them off, looking on in shock as a few volunteers pulled the Captain on board, and headed off to the hospital in Skiff. He was all right, not too badly injured, but it had shaken up Skiff, Ryan and Daisy quite a bit.

The Little Western, the Small Railway, Edward's Branchline, even on the Tramway, there was to be found Tomorrow's Children raising up a fuss about everything. The heads of the railways were being summoned to meet together with Mr Middleton to discuss matters personally. Peregine Percival and Robert Duncan looked at each other, and nodded, before shaking hands with Mr Middleton for the first time.

What they discussed would not be known for some time to come.

...

"DISGRACEFUL!" spluttered Gordon.

"Disgusting!" snapped Emily.

"Despicable!" growled Henry.

James didn't say anything. He wasn't sulking, but it was clear that the events of the day had taken his toll on him. The big engines had all arrived at Tidmouth for an impromptu indignation meeting, all to complain both about James's treatment and the antics of the protesters.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Hank protested loudly, as he was want to do. "I mean, there must be some way to keep those yahoos from causing any more ruckus along the line!"

Spencer scoffed. "The Prime Minister hasn't been able to quell fears at all. The Beeching Cuts couldn't have come at a worse time in my opinion! It was bad enough when all that modernization malarky was taking place, but now even the safe areas are becoming few and far between. If he can't calm his own cabinet down enough to keep us safe, then how in all that is good and pure is he supposed to keep these...yahoos, as you so put it, from wrecking everything?"

There was a long silence as each engine considered this. Spencer's words, though somewhat harsh in nature, were not incorrect. Not for the first time, the engines felt a keen sense of powerlessness.

"All right." Edward said at last. "So we can't stop the rioters. That's not to say that we can't keep an eye out for them. Mr Middleton clearly thinks that we should exercise caution when dealing with them. I dislike his way of showing it, but that is not, on it's own, a bad idea. We check with the stationmasters if it is all right to leave the station if we know they are active, or try any alternative routes that will take them away from us."

James looked up, anger clear in his eyes. "All of this is very well!" he hissed, sarcastically. "But I don't think Middleton cares for us at all! The way he spoke to me!" He looked as though he wished to say something stronger at the moment, but bit back the curse words he knew would not help the situation. "It's an insult, this is what it is!"

"I agree, I agree." Edward said, soothingly. James scoffed and looked away. "No, seriously James, I do. So here's what i'm going to do. Tomorrow, I have the 9:45 to Lower Suddery. The Fat Controller should hopefully be on that train. I'll try and talk him into explaining to Middleton our point of view, and that should sort things out." Edward looked around at the skeptical faces, and gave a tight smile. "I know. Not the best solution."

"But it's the only one we've got." grunted Murdoch.

Emily grimaced. "One last thing. Is it just me, or have certain sections of the line been closed off to ye all?"

"As a matter of fact, they have." Edward looked thoughtfully. "Suddery Junction is usually a far quicker way to the various stations, but it was shut down by a foreman when I headed that way earlier. Driver said it was something to do with the ground being unsafe. At least, that's what management told him." Edward looked to the others. "Why, have there been any other parts of the Island closed down?"

"Aye." spoke up Douglas. "Before I headed to yon Kirk Ronan, I happened ta take a few trucks past Castle Loch. We crossed over the causeway, but the rest of the area was completely shut off. There were no tourists taking photographs or anything, not even bairns trying to have a quick dip in there!"

Emily clicked her tongue. "Odd. Same happened ta me when I tried to take the coaches along the Norramby line. Arthur had no idea what was happening either. Seemed to think that there were faults in the system."

"Faults? Pah!" Henry snorted. "Arthur's so clean that I'm surprised the rails don't gleam whenever the sun shines on them!"

"...Well that's terrific. Another conspiracy to think about." Edward yawned. "Well, how about we all head off home for the night? I, for one, am tuckered out!"

...

Thomas had one last delivery to drop off before he headed back to Ffarquhar sheds for the night. He imagined that Toby and Percy were already fast asleep, warm and comfortable. Right now he would have given anything to be nestled there with them, free from the stresses and worries of the past day. He had been lucky in avoiding the worst of the protesters, bar a few who just stood on the road above Elsbridge and had their shouts carried away by the wind. But even so, it had rattled him just as much as it had the big engines.

At the moment, he had set off from Brendam towards the Dieselworks, with a train of trucks containing spare parts for the diesels. The weather had changed, and a wind that would not have been out of place in winter time now whistled and gently buffeted him. He shivered, and tried to keep his mind focused on what lay ahead.

As he pulled in, Thomas couldn't help but overhear an argument. From the sound of it, it sounded as if Diesel and BoCo were very angry at each other.

"Why-" oiled Diesel, sounding more than a little angry "-should I have to be the one to help those silly steamers?! If they think they're so good, they should handle it themselves!"

"Diesel, you're not thinking straight! Have you seen what those protesters did on accident to those poor people?! Now, imagine what they could do if they decided that that was the way to get results!" BoCo sounded frustrated. "And as for those 'steamers' as you so eloquently refer to them as, they can't get through the thick skulls that these people seem to have! But I think they'll listen to us."

"Probably. We are revo-"

"Revolutionary, I know, yes! But there are some kinds of revolution that would be bad for all involved." BoCo glanced over, and started. "Oh. Thomas, didn't see you there!"

"Sorry, I'll just leave the trucks and head off."

"You do that!" snarled Diesel. And off he sulked to his shed.

Thomas left the trucks inside the dieselworks for Den and Dart to take care of. And he was just about to set off when BoCo coughed. "Sorry about just now, Thomas. The day's been a rough one. Listen, I've been attempting to find you, because there was something I've been trying to tell you about." BoCo quickly explained about Penny to Thomas, who greeted the news with some puzzlement. "So, if you see her-"

"Thank you, BoCo. Any idea where she might have gone?"

BoCo thought for a moment. "Well...considering that I saw her last in Wellsworth, it's entirely possible she might have tried to head back there to grab a bit of sleep. Perhaps she could still be there."

"I see...thanks. Have a good night."

...

Sir Topham Hatt sighed and stretched out as best he could. The armchair was a retirement gift from Lowham. He had made sure to take it all apart before using it in any capacity, just on chance that it contained some form of practical joke, He had, so far, found three rubber chickens, a whoopee cushion and a mechanism that sent the back of the chair careening backwards when the owner least suspected it.

Other than that, it was remarkably comfortable.

Opposite him, Lady Hatt was knitting away, and listening to the radio. The grandchildren had headed off to bed not too long after Listen to Mother had finished, clearly recognizing that the grownups had had a stressful day.

Topham paused for a moment, trying to think of something to say. He took a deep breath, and dived in. "Is everything all right, dear?"

"..."

"I, erm, that is to say, you haven't said much...has something happened?"

Lady Hatt lay down her knitting and turned to face him. Her lips trembled, but she took a deep breath, and kept her composure as calm as she could. "My friends are in hospital at the moment."

"What?" Hatt stood up and walked over to her, kneeling by her side. "You didn't say anything! Oh my, I'm sorry, Mary. ...It was the Kirk Ronan train, wasn't it? Giles phoned me up and said that there was some problem today. Didn't think anything of it with so many protests going on." He paused, and patted her leg awkwardly. "How are they?"

"Most of them are fine. It's nerves, more than anything, it's really shaken them up. Priscilla's...one of the bricks hit her knee, so they're making sure that there isn't a fracture or something." Mary stood up, and took a deep breath. She leaned over and turned the radio off. "It's not your fault, you know. I should have brought it up before the children got here, but I'm still trying to get to grips with it."

Topham nodded, unable to think of anything to say. "Listen, if it's all right with you, I just want to check Trainspotting for a moment. And then we can see if Dr Finlay's Casebook is on."

"Are you sure you'd rather not see Crossroads?"

"Pah!" Hatt paused, and then sighed. "I've really been spending too long with Gordon. I'm starting to pick up some of his habits." As Mary laughed, he changed the channel, just in time to see Nigel and Stan sitting at their desks, stone-faced.

 _"Good evening. The main headline today is, of course, the violent protests that have taken place on the Island of Sodor today. We have recieved word that though there are no casualties, and most of those injured have been dealt with quickly, this is more a miracle than anything. Stan, when violence such as this comes to a usually peaceful area, how does one even start to comprehend it?"_

 _"I'm not sure many of us do at the moment, Nigel. Not for lack of trying mind, I have approached and attempted to communicate with the temporary director of the railway, but sources tell me that he is tied up deeply with the other members of the railway board trying to think of a solution. I expect a more accurate response in the morning. I have, however, received a statement from Sir Robert Norramby, Earl of Sodor."_

 _The screen cut to grainy footage of Sir Robert, resting near Stephen and Millie at Ulfstead Castle, looking grimly at the camera. "If any of those idiots come marching up here in their jackboots, I'll give them what for! This is not the act of righteous protesters, but of bullies and cowards! I would advise them, should any of them be watching this, to grow up and rethink their lives before it's too late!"_

 _Back to the studio now. "Oh! Harsh words from Sir Robert there, Stan. But not undeserved ones. We have, at this time, reached out for comment to the leader of Tomorrow's Children, David Cruft. However, we have been informed that for whatever reason, he will not be responding to us until the following morning. If you're feeling hot at the moment, just know that it's not just your blood boiling. The Prime Minister has sent out a message offering his sympathies and prayers to those who have been attacked, and has made the promise that there will be consequences for the group."_

...

"Ridiculous!"

The leader of Tomorrow's Children was a man named David Cruft. He was a fit man, National Service and a daily workout regiment helped his naturally good looking body along. About thirty, his blonde hair was cropped neatly, as was his mustache, and his blue eyes could be quite a powerful tool in creating an image of a charismatic and cheerful leader.

Now though, they were boring into the sorry lot in front of him, all of whom appeared to find the floor fascinating.

"You are all ridiculous! You...You could not have screwed this up more if you had tried...and believe me, with some of you, I do wonder! Let me explain something to you...simpletons! The great British public? We actually sort of need them to like us in order for the message to get across. We do not need you over-enthusiastic yobbos to go around knocking them out and sending them to the hospital!" Cruft looked at each one individually, and then grimaced. "Oh, and to top it all off? Some of you are now in jail. This is a great day indeed!"

He stormed out, catching his white jacket on the door as he slammed it. Cursing, he pulled it free and lit up a cigarette to try and calm his nerves down a bit.

Harold Wilson, he thought. Mr Prime Minister.

Not caring about the burning sensation, he crushed the cigarette in his hands and threw it over his shoulder. He strode off, towards the yard that was located not too far from there. In the olden days, he had seen steam engines making sure that trains were ready, that inspectors were impressed by their hard work, and all the rest of it. All finished now, of course. The Modernization, and the Beeching Cuts, had left this place empty and silent.

Well, it had been.

Six months ago, he had been summoned to a meeting by some university toff. They had got to talking a bit about what annoyed them most about the world, and by chance, Cruft had slipped up in admitting that steam engines drove him up the wall.

"It's not-" he remarked, sloshing his beer around and deciding to throw caution to the wind "-as if people protested about the horse and carriage being replaced! New models of cars come out every year to replace the old one, and no one so much as bats an eyelid! Planes, boats, agricultural equipment, housing...everything changes and no one gives a damn. But-" More sloshing, as he tried to stand up "-you take a steam engine, all right? And you give it a cute little face. And suddenly, everyone...EVERYONE decides that it's wrong to move on. Diesels are the future!"

"I quite agree." said his companion, smoothly. "Which is why I've asked you here."

"Oh?" He sat back down, legs deciding that no, standing up was not a good idea.

"You know of the Island of Sodor, yeah? I worked there for a bit when I was younger. Trust me, it would be hell for someone like you." As David laughed and clinked glasses, he continued. "When I left, I was about to head off for parts unknown, when these two tank engines came up to me. At first I just dismissed them. Then they told me an idea that I just had to try out."

David listened to the idea. And grinned. "I want in."

And now here he was. In a yard that was supposed to be empty, but wasn't. There were a few cameras, operated by capable men, and there were some diesels right at the back. They looked grimy and messy, but that was mostly down to the makeup. They looked grizzled, but that was down to the weather that they had been filming in, all year long.

They looked scared.

That was very, very real.

...

"Well now, shall we head for home?" Thomas asked his driver. But he was surprised to find himself in a far more curious mood than he had reckoned. True, the thought of his nice and cozy shed was still a very appealing one indeed, but this new mystery was quite enticing.

His driver thought so too. "Yes, of course...let's take a detour through Wellsworth though, just in case." The fireman tutted, and the driver rounded upon him. "Oh come on! Where's the adventure in your life? We try and follow the rules every other day, it's not as if we're breaking the law. Besides, what if it's important?"

"Or what if it's a trick to get lynched?" But the fireman did as he was bade, and Thomas headed off in the direction of Wellsworth. As he moved along, Thomas whistled to Percy, who was puffing by with the mail train.

 _Even with all the chaos and uncertainty, he's still there,_ thought Thomas with the surety of youth.

At last, he puffed in. The driver and fireman stopped him near the platform, and then got out to buy something to eat and drink on the ride back to Tidmouth. As they ventured inside the station, Thomas settled comfortably, and looked around. The sheds were empty, bar a few carriages and the sleeping form of Judy and Jerome, the breakdown train.

He sighed, and was about to close his eyes for a second...when he heard a voice he had never heard before speak.

"Um...e-e-excuse me? Are you...Thomas?"

The tank engine opened his eyes and peered about. Slowly, as he got used to the dark, he noticed someone around the signalbox. It was an engine, though much more he could not tell. "Hello? Yes, I'm Thomas! I've heard you've been looking for me."

"Yes...yes! Yes, I have." The voice sounded unsure, a little shaken...certainly emotional. Thomas had just enough steam for him to move slightly forward of his own accord. It had been a while since the incident with the stationmaster's house, and he was a lot more careful as he slowly moved forward. He came to a stop just shy of the platform.

"Oh...they told me you were a di-"

And then everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

For a moment, Thomas struggled against the large canvas that had been thrown against his face. He tried to shout for help, but it was so thick that it was like trying to raise one's voice against a hurricane! But there was worse still. There was something on the bag, and no matter how hard Thomas tried, he couldn't help but breathe it in.

Everything began to get very fuzzy indeed.

Meanwhile, Anna looked on helplessly, as the humans who had thrown the bag over Thomas's face rushed up onto her cab, and onto that of the machine that Cliff had referred to. The APT, as it was known, let out a growl that may have been just it's engine, or...something else. She shrank back from it, panic gripping her briefly. She had never been comfortable working with this, and the fact that she was on her own on a unfamiliar Island with this thing was a worrying thought indeed.

"OI!"

Ah. More complications.

Both drive and fireman dropped whatever it was they were carrying and rushed towards the APT. With another growl, it coupled itself up to Thomas and started off. But with a great leap, the two members of Thomas's crew jumped on board their engine's cab a split second before they cleared the platform completely. Anne quickly found a siding and turned herself around, before following on afterwards.

She could just make out, in the darkness, the sight of Thomas's driver fighting furiously at the controls. But even if he had been able to brake, it would have been little use. The APT was far faster than Spencer or Gordon, or even Hugo, the most modern engine of the fleet. A tank engine alone couldn't stop the speeding bullet as it rocketed from Wellsworth and out towards Suddery Junction.

The signs that warned trains that the area was closed off were battered aside easily. There was a moment's pause, as the APT seemed to think for a moment...then it headed down the line that led past Crock's Scrap Yard. Anna was barely able to keep up, but her mind was already whirring ahead. Not too far now, and Castle Loch would be looming overhead.

Meanwhile, the chaos of the chase had affected both driver and fireman badly. While the driver clung to the controls as if his life depended on it (Which in actuality, it might have done), the fireman scrambled to the back of the cab to try and see if he could alert a signalman. But he had reckoned without the sudden bend in the track, which took them off Edward's branch and onto the more public area formerly used by the Peel Godred Engines. He grabbed hold of the side of the cab, but the turn was so sharp that even Thomas seemed to ride the fails roughly for a moment.

The driver looked back just in time to see his co-worker sprawled in the middle of a ditch, unconscious. For a moment, he entertained a fantasy about trying to make his way to the front of the train and getting into the APT.

The loud crack of a gunshot soon put paid to that idea, however.

Anna shrieked as the sound pierced the air around her. One of the men riding on her was aiming a pistol at the driver. "No!" She shouted, and swerved sharply. The man cursed, and his next shot rang wide, nearly ricoheting off of Thomas's bunker.

By now, they had passed the Castle all together, and they were now firmly running down the Peel Godred Line.

"HALT!" someone cried. The APT slammed on the brakes, coming to a sharp stop. Thomas's driver, however, did not, and promptly was sent flying straight into the controls. He collapsed to the ground, concussed. The engines stood motionlessly at the very edge of the junction leading to Crovan's Gate, as Percy headed on through with the mail train.

Percy had had a long day, and so wasn't really focusing that much. If he had been, he might have seen the dim headlamps of Thomas flicker in the night. But he wasn't, so he didn't. And seconds later, the crew on both Anna and the APT breathed a long sigh of relief. Seconds later, they started up again.

...

 _"Right," said Fred, "Both of us together_  
 _One each end and steady as we go."_  
 _Tried to shift it, couldn't even lift it_  
 _We was getting nowhere_  
 _And so we had a cuppa tea and-_

The signalman at Vicarstown consulted his watch. His replacement was overdue. Very overdue. He looked at the gramaphone, and wondered to himself if there would be any harm in just exiting the signalbox for a second just to get himself a can of something from the nearby shop. He hesitated, and removed the needle, cutting Bernard Cribbins off mid-flow.

He had just gotten onto the railing around the outside to get a bit of air, when he spotted a car heading towards him. Johnny, his usual replacement, was off sick with the measles, and he had yet to meet his replacement's replacement. So he thought nothing of it when the strange figure stepped out of his car and hurried up to meet him.

"At last!" he snapped. "Where have you-?"

One second later, the signalman lay flat on his back, as the figure made sure that he was tied up and hidden away in the cupboard for the time being. Then, he sat down and waited for the sign.

He didn't have long. Having crossed through Crovan's Gate and then along the Norramby coastal route, the kidnappers had just to clear Vicarstown to be home and dry with their most precious cargo. As their henchman pulled the lever to switch them onto the tracks, the APT let out a triumphant blast on their horn, and then...they were gone.

...

Edward looked anxiously up at the clock. 9:39, and there was still no sign of him. He had gotten up in a good mood too, with the thought of solving the problem of James brightening up his day.

But he couldn't even begin to solve the problem if-

"Edward! There you are! I'm sorry for holding you up, I...phew...hold up a moment." Sir Topham Hatt nearly collapsed to his knees as he took in huge lungfuls of air repeatedly.

"Sir, are you...all right?"

"F...Fine! I'm fine Edward!" It would have been more believable had Hatt not immediately began coughing while bent over. "I...I realized I was going to be late, and that being the owner of the railway no longer means I can hold back a train so I get on it before it leaves the station, so I ran!"

"But sir, you're not out of a job yet!"

"No. But I have to get into practice for when I am...do you mind if I ride in your cab?"

"Of course not! I was meaning to ask you something, anyway." Edward wondered to himself if the guard was going to forget his sandwiches and make his train late. But to his surprise, for once, he started off on time. As he did so, he glanced back to see if he could spot Middleton watching from the platform, as Hatt had always done whenever the first train of the morn set off.

But nothing.

Edward swallowed back his disappointment, and concentrated on chugging along.

As he did so, he talked to the Fat Controller about the issues that the engines had had with Middleton. He did so, however, with great care. Edward wasn't just considered the wisest engine for his beliefs, but also in the way he communicated them. He was very careful to mention that the other engines understood the pressure that Middleton had to be under, and that there were bond to be teething troubles at first.

"But the fact of the matter is, sir-" he concluded as they drew into Lower Suddery "-it's a little worrying for us engines that Mr Middleton is so harsh on us. James is foolhardy and vain, sometimes, but in this situation, I don't think I would have done any differently. There was no choice, and he did the best he could. To punish an engine, and solely an engine, for that seems a bit...cruel."

"I understand, Edward." Sir Topham watched as the passengers milled about. "No, I shall definitely speak with Giles about this. He is...He is a good man. The problem is, you see, that he's been working abroad for so long. And in such a cutthroat environment like banking, well!" Hatt rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You'll be heading off to Elsbridge, next?"

"Yes sir. It's a small lot here, so we won't have to wait long."

"Very good. I might just get a chance to say hello to Thomas." He coughed. "Erm...how has he been taking it?"

"...It's complicated, sir. Things are happening all at once, and with the greatest of respect, you couldn't have picked a worse time to announce your retirement."

"You don't have to tell me that, Edward." The Fat Controller sat down and wiped his brow. "I didn't think it would be this stressful. I recall the management going perfectly well when it was my father's time to give up control...ah well. I'll explain it to Thomas as best as I can. Perhaps then he'll see why I've left."

...

They made good time to Elsbridge, and the passengers began to mill about the station, buying postcards and books and pastries for the journey along Thomas's branch. Edward and Hatt kept talking.

"So, how long have you known Mr Middleton, sir?"

"Goodness me, since...why, university!" Hatt chuckled in a nostalgic sort of way. "Oh yes, we went to Oxford together. We'd yet to have a university of our own on the Island, so we both went over there to study. We mucked about for our first two years, but it was only in the final year when we really started becoming friends. And then, even when we went off to different fields, we stayed in touch. I actually invited him back over to the Island a year or so ago."

"What did he do? Before this, I mean."

"Like I said, banking. For a time, at any rate. He became quite powerful until a few years ago when he packed it all in!" Sir Topham paused, and then laughed nervously. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"It's all right sir, you don't have to."

"No, no, it's fine. It's just...ah, I'm not sure. I keep wondering if I'm making the right choice with this."

"Sir?"

But at that moment, they were both distracted from their chat by the sound of a loud 'HONK HONK' from the lane by the station. And there, looking a little bit battered, was Bertie. He looked at the two of them and gave a puzzled look. "Huh...so it is true."

"How's that, Bertie?"

"Well, it's just that...Thomas hasn't been seen up at Knapford. This Middleton fellow is going spare, keeps asking where he is. Well, as there's no way of telling at the moment, I've been sent to take his passengers."

Hatt caught sight of Edward's worried face and was quick to reassure him. "It's probably just a mistake in the timetable. Or else he's sulking in the sheds. Come on, we'll ride back to Knapford and see if we can't sort this out."

But they couldn't sort it out. The only thing faster than Bertie the Bus's wheels was his tongue, and that had been racing around spreading the news to the whole Island. The engines began to grow more and more concerned for Thomas. He wasn't at any of the sheds, on his branch-line, at the Steamworks, the docks...they looked everywhere they could.

It was nearly dark by the time that Duck spotted the fireman, who was rushed to hospital with a severe case of pneumonia. He was in no fit state to speak of what had happened. But already, the signalman had been discovered tied up in his own box. It did not take a genius to work out that Thomas the Tank Engine was no longer on the Island of Sodor at all.

...

"This is a disaster, Giles."

"I know!" Giles groaned. "And Number One always was a good draw for the tourists."

"Thomas, Giles, his name was Thomas! Please use it! And no, that's not what I'm concerned about, surprisingly." Hatt collapsed into the seat and massaged his temples. "He is probably out there alone and scared out of his wits right now. I've already asked the departing engines to spread the word about the Mainland a bit. Perhaps if we get lucky-"

"Yes, yes." Middleton dismissed this from his mind. "Understood, understood. But no, my first concern is to see that operations are not disturbed that much. Callous as it may seem, the railway must keep moving without the little tank engine. I've already assigned-" His eyes flickered down to the notes on the desk "-Numbers 6 and 7 to maintain the running of the line for the rest of the day, whereas a more permanent understudy will be put in place from thereon."

"Well, you're being efficient. That's something, I suppose."

Giles flashed a brief smile and returned to his paperwork. He clearly thought that the matter was over.

It was not.

"Giles." said Sir Topham, cautiously "How are you getting on?"

It took a moment for the statement to register in his head. He looked back up sharply and made a great show of shuffling the files around without looking. "Oh, you know. As well as can be expected."

"Are you sure? Are you...enjoying the job?"

"Enjoying is a strong word. It's felt, sometimes, like I've been struggling through quicksand. Albeit non-fatal quicksand that does have some genuine pearls in it, but...you get the point."

"It's a good analogy." Hatt gripped the desk. "No, you're not doing anything really wrong, I just wondering...why did you take me up on the offer? Was it just an old favor for a uni chum, or...something else?"

Middleton gave one of those quietly charismatic smiles that always seemed to impress people. "Well, put it this way, I am not as enthusiastic about the railway as you are. For now. But I do think that this Island has the potential to be something truly special. I'm not saying that it isn't at the moment, but I want to make it a shining example to the rest of the world."

"Well that's good to hear. But a word of advice?" Topham gently wagged his finger. "Start treating the engines like...well, humans rather than numbers on a sheet of paper. One of my father's flaws was that he tended to overreact to them, transform them into generators and bunkers and donors for healthier engines if they strayed out of line. We can learn just as much from them as they can from us."

"...Understood, sir."

"Now...if possible, I'd like to make a statement to the press."

"About Number...About Thomas, you mean?"

"Yes."

...

"Meeting tonight." Timothy muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Understood." BoCo said in hushed tones. The foreman was busy shouting at two of his workmen, but that still didn't mean that a little bit of discretion wasn't required. Any engines who weren't supposed to be outside during the night was supposed to stay in their sheds for fear of causing a kerfuffle. But tonight was, once again, different. One of their own had been taken.

As BoCo exited the quarry, his mind returned to the thoughts of the mysterious diesel that had appeared to him that night. He knew that she had to be involved in this somehow. But he didn't quite feel comfortable enough to talk to Mr Middleton about it. If the Fat Controller wasn't absent from the railway, he would have gone to see him. But as it was, he felt that he needed to actually find the diesel first in order to get to the truth of the matter.

So making sure to move as quietly as he could, he whispered an idea to his driver. At the next junction, instead of heading off to the Dieselworks to get a bit of rest before the meeting, he moved towards Wellsworth.

He entered the yards with the same level of quiet. He crept closer and closer, until at last, he reached the sheds. For a moment, he debated with himself about whether or not he should do this. it was ridiculous to think that she might return to the sheds at all. No, it was more likely that she had crept back over to the Other Railway before-

"BoCo?"

Alternatively, the gods were smiling on him today. He glanced towards her, and before she could move, immediately started forward. "You and I-" He said, grimly "-need to talk. Urgently."

...

 _"At this time, I can confirm that yes,. Thomas the Tank Engine is missing. We are assuming that it is a hostile force from outside the Island, though at this time we have received no ransom note, or any demands of any kind. I won't insult your intelligence by describing Thomas to you, but I will ask that anyone who has anything to report about the events last night come forward and give what information they have. Likewise, this message will be broadcast onto the mainland, so anyone who can provide information on where Thomas may have been taken can come forward also. And to those who have taken him, I leave you with this warning. You better be ready for the consequences of your actions."_

"Turn it off!" snapped Cruft. His housekeeper glanced at him with a long-suffering look that indicated to his visitor that she was used to this, and changed the channel to ITV. But again, the message was once again being played there. Finally, she just knocked it off and headed to clean upstairs.

"She can be a bit...much, sometimes." Cruft said, after an awkward silence.

"So, are you and her-?"

"No! No. ...Not yet anyway, but, give it time." Cruft winked, and laughed a carefree laugh that was almost obscured by the glass of beer that he chucked back with relish. The visitor smiled. Or at least, he gave the appearance of smiling. Which is, in reality, a completely different thing. "So, I have to confess...I am a little bit puzzled. This girl, the steamer...I'd never seen her before."

"No. She is, as I understand it, a relation to the two that I met." The visitor took a sip of the beer, and decided it wasn't his thing. "A sister, or something. As if they can ever really understand family, or love, or something like that. It's pathetic."

"Amen. But then...why are we helping them?"

"...After the war, some of the top Nazi scientists were recruited by the Americans for top secret work. Amnesty for all that they had done. All they had to do was to create the weapons with which the next war is to be fought with. To stop more of their kind. And so I look upon it much the same as that. I despise the steamers, similar to yourself...but they have their uses."

"I see..." Cruft seemed to accept this. "What do you want me to tell the media?"

"Simple. Inform them that these people are misguided. That while you certainly are not changing your message, you are wholly opposed to the injuring of any human life, and that you accept the charges laid against some of the lads who've been taken into custody. Don't outright disown them, but distance yourself as much as possible for the moment.

"It wouldn't have happened had I just been there."

"You do good work, Cruft. I understand that you feel as though you are spinning your wheels, so to speak, at the moment, but patience is a virtue for a reason." The visitor checked his watch. "It appears I must be off. I have a meeting with that cretin Wilson at Downing Street. I've got to explain my position to him, make sure that he sees sense."

"You know, perhaps next time, you could explain to me exactly what your position is in the government. I'd like to know what my contact up there actually does."

The visitor smiled. "I'll try. Mind-" He picked up his umbrella and headed on out "-I am a very busy man. Until the next time, David."

...

"Well that could have gone worse!" Peter said, enthusiastically. Anna didn't bother to respond to this statement. "We didn't lose anyone, there's nothing that can link the APT to us...and to top it all off, we've got what we came for!" He grinned rather savagely towards the still unconscious Thomas. "I wasn't sure it would work, not entirely, but my word! I am glad to be proven wrong for once."

"One of the men was firing at his crew!" Anna snapped.

"And he shall be dealt with accordingly." Cliff sternly looked at Peter. "The last thing we need is some foolhardy cretin pretending he's Roy Rogers! But you are correct, Peter. It could have been a lot worse. Good work, Anna."

"When can we speak to him?"

"At the moment, he's still out of it. Give it another half hour, see what we can find then."

As the other two puffed away, Cliff sat and thought for a moment. It had been good, yes...but there were things that could have been improved. The route that he had ordered them to take had been based on Peter's own faulty memory. And while they had avoided being spotted, it had been rather more complex than it should have been.

Yes, Peter had been an issue for quite a while now. It had been Cliff's hope that the extraction of Thomas to have taken place somewhere a bit more secluded. He had even explicitly told Peter to order the APT to wait until they were out into a thicket, or onto the Suddery Junction before taking any action. But obviously Peter had ignored him on that as well. There was a general pattern of disobedience with that one. Anna too, though that was controllable.

There was another thing, too. The humans were beginning to become a problem. At first, he had imagined that their involvement had been necessary. He didn't approve of them as a whole, but he understood that there were areas where engines could not go. Engines were, as a rule, limited to the tracks. They could only go forwards and backwards on any one stretch of line, whereas humans could go any direction they wanted to, and often did. So involving more than just their own crews had been something he had accepted, grimly.

Tomorrow's Children had no idea what was going on. And that showed. There was a real seething hatred there, and that was good, because that meant that the hatred could be used for his ideals. But it could also be a hindrance. He wanted as little to lead back to him as possible.

Suddenly, Thomas shifted besides him. "Where...where...what happened? You'll pay for this-" He lapsed into mumbling as he slowly began the process of coming around. Cliff smiled.

"Ah...it's okay, brother. It's okay. You'll have some questions, right? Let me see if I can answer them."

...

That night, another Indignation Meeting was held. As the engines arrived at Crovan's Gate, they all looked at each other grimly. The last meeting had been grim, for sure. But this? This was new.

At once, everyone spoke together.

"I think we should-"

"NO WE SHOULDN'T!" snapped Gordon. "You want my-"

"That's just wrong!" growled James. "How will we ever find him with that attitude?"

"Well, it's a good deal better than your suggestion!" hissed Henry. "All you've done is-"

At last, the loud blast of a whistle cut through the arguing and bickering, and got everyone's attention at last. Edward looked on in surprise and admiration as Percy rolled forward, face serious. "Get a grip, all of you! Thomas is missing, and all you can do is squabble? Shame on you! We need to start thinking of who did this, and how we can get him back!" He paused, suddenly becoming somewhat self-aware. "Well, I mean, that's just my view point on it." He went quiet again.

In the silence, an abashed Henry cleared his throat. "Right. Well...if we're going to be a bit more orderly about it, how about we start with who could have taken Thomas?"

"Sounds fair to me." Toby looked around the assembled, all of whom were silent with thought. "Anyone? Anything?"

"The Russians!"

"Bill, Ben, you're not allowed to speak for the rest of the evening." Timothy said, bluntly.

"Awwwwww! Marion?"

"I'm with BoCo on this one."

"Suck-up."

"Any serious suggestions? ...No? Fine, I'll offer something up." Toby looked from engine to engine. "Tomorrow's Children. It's really obvious when you think about it. They start with small things and graduate to bigger and bigger things."

"Question, then." Edward glanced at Toby. "I agree for the most part. It would appear that Tomorrow's Children are the most obvious choices for the person behind this nasty business. But why? They don't gain anything from this except a hostage, and I was under the impression that they were trying to curry the appearance of a completely legal political group."

"They're terrorists intent on exterminating us!" snapped Gordon. "Who says they need logic?"

"Everything has some form of logic to it, Gordon." Edward looked thoughtfully. "It may be completely alien to you or I, and it may be wrong, but to most people, their actions make sense based on their creed. And legal groups do not kidnap and hold hostage famous symbols."

"Perhaps they've given up." Henry looked morose, as per usual. "I mean, on being legal. Perhaps they think they can change the system by shocking it enough. Thomas as a prisoner would help."

"Unless it's possible that they're being played somehow?" Emily turned to Percy. "I mean, ye only have ta look at them yesterday ta realize that they were holding back! It's almost as if there are two seperate groups doing this?"

"That actually would explain a lot." James muttered. "I mean, the attacks on the yards are one thing, almost like a forewarning of the incident near Kirk Ronan. Wrecking up the place, seems to be their MO. Cause as much trouble as they possibly can. But ramming Molly off the rails? That seems-"

"A little above their paygrade?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I think I might have a way to explain that."

Everyone looked up as BoCo drew near. Edward was about to comment on him taking his time...when he and everyone else's attention was drawn to the diesel behind him. The complete stranger looked nervous, almost as if she was afraid that the engines were going to lunge at her and devour her whole. BoCo coughed, and glanced to her. "I'm sorry for my absence thus far. But I found someone who might be able to shed a bit of light on the situation."

The diesel rolled forward, biting her lip nervously.

"Hello." said Percy, all of a sudden. "Is it the crowd, is it a bit much for you?"

"Come on Perce, we're hardly an army." James snapped.

"Well I know that I can get a little flustered around crowds of engines all staring at me, so maybe she feels the same way-"

"Look, perhaps it would be best if you introduced yourself. Sorry about this, this is normal for us." Toby cut through the argument neatly, his warm eyes never leaving those of the diesel's. She seemed to respond well to that, as after a few deep breaths, she began to speak.

"My name is Penny. Erm, number...62012. For what it's worth, I mean." Her voice was soft, with a hint of Liverpudlian seeping through. She glanced around her, and laughed nervously. "I'm sorry, it's just...they told me about you, and I just...It's a bit much."

"See, crowds, I told you, James-"

"Shut it, Percy!"

"Flattered as we are to meet you, Miss Penny, I'm afraid I'm a little confused. What exactly is it that you have to tell us? Is it about Thomas?" Edward was about to ask more, but he reeled himself back in.

"Yes. Um, it is. Right, so, I think I know who've taken Thomas. I'm thinking of the right one? Blue, short stumpy funnel, boiler, dome, the works? Number one on his side?"

"That's the one." agreed Toby.

"These people who've taken him, I think they might be the ones who have been looking after me, for lack of a better term, for the past few weeks." Penny closed her eyes and shuddered. "I...I think I might need to tell this story from the beginning."

"That sounds good to me." Edward settled back. "Whenever you are ready."


End file.
